Kites
by frontyardgnome
Summary: Early on in their new careers as fugitives, Murdock is taken hostage by a vengeful drug lord. Now the team must think fast in order to defeat the kingpin and get to Murdock before he's broken too far. UPDATE: Chapter 6 is up!
1. Chapter 1: Kites

**Author's Note: **So, after years and years away from , I come back bearing story thanks to my latest obsession, The A-Team. I am now on season two of the original TV series (so no spoilers, please!) and continue to fall in love with Sharlto Copley of the movie, which is easy to do in my opinion because he's ridiculously talented and attractive AND he plays my favorite character. :)

Now, I'm already writing stories and, of course, this one has to do with my favorite character being challenged and stretched in more ways than he probably ever wanted to be. It happens a lot in my fanfiction, which is bad for the character, but almost always interesting to me (and hopefully you).

So with that...

WARNING: This story has torture and character abuse, physical and mental. There is violence. There is drug use. There is foul language. There might be nudity, but right now, probably not. In short, this story is rated for a reason.

ALSO: I work two jobs and do screenwriting in my spare time. I have written much further ahead on this story than I usually do, but after those chapters run out, please bear with me. Yell at me if you get frustrated, but please know I'm doing the best I can. I hate abandoned stories too! And because I am usually fairly busy, this story will have spelling and grammar mistakes. I'm sorry. :(

With that said, please review, message me, whatever if you have questions, encouragements, or constructive criticism. Have an idea? A prediction? Found a typo? Let me know! I love to talk (if you can't tell), and I love to squeal. So say hi!

**Disclaimers: **I do not own The A-Team, otherwise it would still be on television.

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Chapter One: Kites

CHICAGO "L" – PRESENT

It was funny what he could remember.

He couldn't remember exactly how he had gotten here, or who had taken him here, or even if he was actually here at all. He didn't remember where his shoes or gone, or why he couldn't move his right hand, or, hell, why his jaw was broken. You'd think he'd remember something like that.

What he COULD remember was a dream.

An unnaturally, normal dream.

The dream had come months ago, during that warm night right after a particularly hair raising run between canyons, over rivers, and through the woods to grandmother's house - if grandmother had been Colombian and smuggling cocaine into the States.

He had been with four men, were sleeping in a run down hotel just inland of the coast of Mexico, in a sleepy town that was covered in layers of dust that outnumbered the people who lived there.

He'd knew he'd been sharing a room with a man, the latter already asleep with ribs taped and silk shirt, despite the blood stains, carefully folded on a nearby chair. And he knew that this man was the reason he had been sleeping on the floor.

But he couldn't remember the man's name.

There were vague things he remembered about that night that he knew should have triggered more memory. The man breathing, a cricket chirping, the smoke smell as someone passed by the window, and even the wall rumbling from some noise in the other room. God, it was like a train.

But while he couldn't remember the details of that motel, or even that night, the dream he had had was vivid. And pretty fucking linear and, well, normal for him.

Usually his night time adventures behind his eyelids were chaotic, forever oscillating between good and bad, bright and dark, and quickly forgotten once woken up. Or, to describe it like he did to a friend once – someone with bright blue eyes, who the hell was it? - it was like channel surfing on slow speed.

And that was on good days.

But there were those dreams that were like infomercials. They came and stayed forever, and they waited to pounce late at night, surfacing from the hiding places that they had oozed and solidified in. Those dreams lingered, like a grudge.

Oh, he'd fought them for years. He'd find a way to brush them back, even almost destroy them. But mostly he learned to forget them. To dump them and not look back.

Which was why he wasn't worried when the dream started. Just more surprised that the channel stayed in tune.

He was in a bright place, somewhere warm and cheery. It took him a second to realize where he was. Warm sun beams illuminate a field full of thick, dry grass up to his knees and bright blue skies above.

But best of all, in his hand were the strings to beautiful kites. Kites in all colors, all sizes, all shapes: a triangular rainbow kite, a red box kite, a yellow diamond kite with a tail of tied ribbon, a parrot, a pirate ship, an Eastern dragon, a kite with puzzle pieces drawn on, a clown's face that strung out behind it, each new layer a different emotion, a panda bear, even a red biplane with working rotors, and more that he couldn't see in just one glance.

He stared up at the assortment, feeling the pull from the eager paper beings to go higher, go longer, go faster, go farther. Part of him said to let go, to let them fly off, it would be easier if they were gone.

But damn, did he like the pull they had! Something stronger in him wanted those beautiful things to stay, to make the smile last longer, and to take him with them on their journey into the upper atmosphere.

So he held on and let them have more string.

The plane rose, zig zagging wildly in a joyful dance. The panda bear seemed to swipe at it half-heartedly as it lumbered up higher. The string of clowns wiggled like a fish. The puzzle kite stayed steadily where it went, unfaltering and unwavering as it rose into the unknown. And the host of kites followed, blocking out the blue as they rose.

He smiled, no, laughed, as they rose, running forward through the crunchy grass and lifting them over his head. His heart beat mingled with the dried grass and wind as he went on, looking up at the sky.

Free.

_'This is what freedom feels like,' _he thought to himself in his dream (because apparently you could think to yourself while you were dreaming, which was a form of thinking, no, now he's confusing himself…).

Free.

He hadn't felt like this, since, well, since he was back in Texas.

He couldn't say how long he ran, but he knew when he had to stop as his body grew warm in the sun and his foot hit a stone. He stumbled and stopped, looking forward for the first time.

Wasteland.

Grey.

Black.

Cold.

Something was wrong with this place. And it was frustrating him that he didn't know why his heart was racing or why his feet wanted to run or why he could practically feel his stomach tightening like a damned boa constrictor. Even his feet curled in his shoes to get away from the wasteland in front of him. Nothing could be seen moving over the volcanic rock and dirt, and he didn't want to find out if anything lived in the crevices that scarred the ground.

He turned to go, but stopped at the site of the world behind him. It was fading faster than exposed film. And things seemed to be boiling to the surface of the ground. He wanted to run, but even as fear caught him, he felt a tug in his hands.

The kites.

They stared down at him, a constant in a rapid mess of change, the only things with color anymore.

He held on even as the first thing rose, an oily, black creature. He held on even as a smoky apparition hissed into being. He held on even when the dirt and rock formed into hideous, human things.

But as they stepped towards him, he stepped back and wondered, just for a moment, what had gone wrong. And then the first kite left.

It slipped away as he backed off, and in his surprise he turned. The strings were suddenly much heavier and harder to hold on to. They tugged violently, striking at each other to free themselves.

The creatures advanced and he turned to run. His sneakers were now sending rocks flying and the kites were getting harder to hold on to.

Thinking it would be easier to hold on to less, he let a few go. They shot into the sky, twitching good bye or being buffeted by the wind into the threes. But as those kites left, the others got that much harder to hold on to.

Squirming, slippery, and now uncoiling faster than he could catch, the kites began to rise in flocks until he was only left with four: the plane, the bear, the clown, the puzzle. They were the least restless, the most stable, and he smiled despite the grey skies. Until he was suddenly shoved from behind.

He stumbled forward, clutching the strings to his chest. He turned in time to see more creatures rising and now throwing themselves at him.

_'Fuck fuck fuck_,' his mind screamed. And with the panic came the smell of dry air, intense heat, pin pricks in his arm, condescending voices, screaming, shouting.

No, he didn't want this. All he wanted were his kites! Why couldn't they just leave him those? Just those simple, four kites. Was that too much to ask? He forced himself up and sprinted again.

The things followed, growing in volume in number and sound. As he ran, he looked up at his kites, and he didn't know if he was imagining it (could you imagine while inside a dream?), but they seemed to be fighting to stay near him. Did that clown just wink at him? He hadn't noticed it had blue eyes before. And why was that comforting?

He scrabbled up a pebble covered hill and a flash of green caught his attention.

There, in the distance. Grass!

His heart could have sung. In fact, it did. '_Grey skies are gonna clear up! Put on a happy face…'_

But suddenly, he was on his knees, crushing weight coming in on all sides. He gasped, and fought, throwing off one creature after another. He felt his eyes water over as he fumbled with the kite strings, trying to hang on with cold fingers.

'_No, no, no!'_

But the creatures kept coming and in panic he threw his arms over his head.

Three twangs and three kites were suddenly up and away, the ends tantalizingly close as they floated off. In his hands, one string remained. The plane bobbed alone as the other kites rose, higher and higher, faster and further until they were gone.

He kneeled and watched as the plane became the only bright speck in the sky. Despair filled him – black, crushing despair that descending in a black, murky fog. The creatures jumped and howled, and closing his eyes at their screeches he curled up on his knees and hid his face in his arms.

His body trembled and not knowing how to escape he did the next best thing: he shut down. Blissful silence awaited him as he thought of nothing, a place full of nothing. Beautiful, merciful grey silence that held only the things he wanted to see.

As the creatures continued to bay, he tuned out. His body loosened and through his fingers slipped the last string. The plane fluttered along before falling to the ground, its wings breaking upon impact. Where it landed it stayed, grew grey, and blended in with the earth.

Gone.

And then he woke up, panting in a hot motel room as tears streamed down his face. He was still in the hotel room with the broken light, the neatly folded shirt on a chair, a leather satchel with a tiger half-painted onto the front, the red baseball cap on top.

Outside, someone passed by again, the glowing end of a cigar just visible between the broken wooden blinds. A man turned in his sleep, and somewhere nearby a snore imitated a freight engine.

Who were these people? Where was he?

He remembered that that night, the details had come back. And he had been relieved, but worried. Every time a bad night happened, the details disappeared. All he was left with was raw emotion, raw thought, and fuck, it made sense to him, but madness always made sense to the maddened.

And the one thing he could remember clearly was thinking: one day, what if the details just didn't come back?

It was a question that kept him up at night sometimes, and it would keep him up that night too, worrying the edge of a gaudy comforter as the tears he didn't remember shedding dried on his face.

But in those minutes spent worrying, alone, in the dark, he worried about what life would feel like if the details had failed to return.

Now...

Now, "if" had become a "when". He knew it was coming, there was no possible way he could not fall and fall hard into the timeless, detail-less void that he knew only as "a low".

Time had already begun to slow down. Voices were nothing more than the teacher from the Peanuts cartoon and sounds came like late, muted thunder. He thought he heard gun fire, but nothing was a sure thing anymore.

Blood had begun to pool beneath him, and at some time he had known exactly why he was bleeding. But now it seemed natural to be watching the dark red liquid drip down and he did so, cocking his head faintly at the fact that it was reflecting the light.

He just wanted to be done. He was tired, he was beyond recognizing any feeling in his body (he had one still, right?), and there wasn't anything left to hold on to. He'd come so close to leaving into that black, but he'd held on. He couldn't remember why he had, though.

Sleep. Yes, that was what he wanted now, to go to that warm place and sleep. And he realized, with that first clear thought of the hour that he could sleep for the first time in days. All he had to do was close his eyes…

_'Sleep…'_

_"MURDOCK!"_


	2. Chapter 2: These Bold Renegades

**AN: **I meant for it to be shorter, but it isn't…oops. Welcome back, though! If you haven't noticed, the summary on the front page keeps changing. That's because I hate writing summaries and keep trying to make a better one. It will probably keep changing.

Also, the first chapter changed. Kinda. I rewrote it a bit and while I didn't necessarily add anything new, I tweaked it to sound a bit more like what I want. I'm still not happy with it. It'll probably change tomorrow.

Yeah, I'm indecisive. Damn.

I'm also manic tonight…

Anyway, today is my birthday, so I wanted to pass on a gift to everyone else and post another chapter. So please pretty please with marmalade review, and let me know what you think! And thanks to everyone favoriting this or following it!

And real quick, because this is how the old people respond to reviews (where's my walker?).

**rubberducky2010: **Sharlto Copley is amazing, and I hope all of his children are as gorgeous as him. The world needs more beautiful things!

**Damion Starr: **I can't wait to give you more! Though I might have to be mean and not actually catch up to the prologue for a bit. I haven't gotten to "Curtain Call" yet, though I'm in eager anticipation! And I love "District 9", not only for Copley's amazing, amazing performance and accent, but also because the writing is gorgeous. (And Bradley Cooper is one fine man.)

**danang1970: **Thanks! I'm still trying to perfect it, but I'm glad the effect came across. Thanks for reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The A-Team.

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Chapter Two: These Bold Renegades

GRAND CANYON – THREE MONTHS EARLIER

By most definitions, Hannibal was screwed. He was standing at the edge of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, hands up, and the way forward blocked by trigger-happy youngsters. Correction: trigger-happy youngsters going through withdrawal.

And all because of the file he had in his hand.

Well, partly because of that.

But Hannibal wasn't worried. In fact, he was smiling as he blew out cigar smoke. "Gentlemen, I don't see why we need to discuss our differences so close to the canyon. It's a beautiful part of the landscape, however, I can see it just fine from fifty feet away instead of five."

"I'm sure you can." The leading man was Charles Monroe, a younger man with pale skin and deep bags under his eyes. The reason his hands were shaking was because he had just lost 500 million dollars of fine grade crystal meth thanks to an exploded shipment and destroyed lab.

Monroe could barely hold on to the trigger. "But you see, I don't take kindly to people interfering with my business, and you've crossed a line, Colonel Smith! We weren't doing anyone any harm out here, and we were all squared away with the police until you came."

"The police?" Hannibal snorted at the thought. "Son, you're in a whole new world here. The police chief you paid off doesn't have jurisdiction here. Or did you not think about that before stepping over Maricopa lines into Coconino country?"

The younger man obviously hadn't thought of it, as his eyes widened and his support began to waver. He quickly shifted the barrel higher. "Maybe I have! But it doesn't matter, Colonel Smith, because you're the one who won't be living through this. Now give us the file and we'll leave something for the police to recognize!"

Monroe motioned with his gun for a henchman to grab the files from Hannibal. The man did as he was asked, approaching warily. Hannibal saw the kid wasn't more than 25, and was looking at him with a mixture of fear and awe as he plucked the folder from him and skittered back to the group.

"Give it up, son." Hannibal's eyes locked with Monroe's. "You give yourself up and you might walk away right now with a life sentence instead of death for those men you killed."

The gun cocked and Monroe stepped forward, the shot gun ready. "Go to hell, Smith."

Hannibal sighed and spit the mostly spent cigar out. "You'd really add another death to your sheet?"

Monroe jabbed the gun forward. "Keep stepping backwards, Colonel. We're sending you off the edge. It'll look like an accident and everything."

"I see." Hannibal glanced over the edge. "However, I'm not so sure I'm inclined to fall to my death today. National monument or not."

Monroe smirked, his confidence coming back. "You don't get a vote."

Hannibal shrugged. "All right." And then he stepped backwards, almost to the edge. Monroe stepped forward, eagerly.

"WHAAA HOOO!" The war whoop caused everyone but Hannibal to jump. A hang glider smashed through the back of the group as it came in for a landing, sending grunts scrambling out of the way.

As Monroe jumped aside, Murdock stopped right in front of Hannibal and flashed him a wild grin from underneath his overly large cowboy hat. The pilot yanked down his bandanna. "Yiii-hah, Colonel! Ol' Thunder here's ready as ever to get going. Those doggies ain't goin' to wait forever, and they got to get to Wyoming soon!"

Murdock shook the frame, making a fairly decent horse neigh as Hannibal grabbed for the extra harness. "Woah, Thunder, woah! Save it for the get-away, girl!"

Hannibal had barely gotten one leg in though when Murdock started forward. "Gotta go, Colonel, so better hurry it on up before this horse leaves us both!" And the pilot was right, as bullets began to fly as Monroe's men found their guns again.

Murdock broke into a run and Hannibal just made it into the harness before the edge was rapidly passing underneath. Murdock threw his head back as the wind rushed through his hair. "We're a pair o' regular ghost riders! _Ghooooost riders in, the sky_… No, wait, dang, wrong horse."

The chatter was drowned out as gunfire shot off around them, one or two bullets ripping through the silk or pinging off the metal supports. Police sirens were mixed in with the gunfire and shouting as well, and it didn't take long for the group of dealers to realize that Hannibal was gone and the police were about to find them with incriminating evidence.

Satisfied that the police would catch them, Hannibal looked forward, hanging on tightly, eyes half closed against the wind. He looked over at Murdock, who gave him a thumbs up and a wink from underneath his goggles. "Seems we're ready to ride off into the sunset now, eh Colonel?"

Hannibal chuckled and shouted over the wind. "Just land, Murdock!"

The landing was rough, Hannibal bruising his shins as they almost over shot the landing. But Murdoch knew it would be tight and planted his feet so hard into the ground that Hannibal could swear he smelled rubber burning. The glider nose tipped over the other side of the overhang, but the two didn't go over.

Slipping out from under the glider, Hannibal helped Murdoch out of his straps. The pilot's face was dusty, but a wide, white smile was beaming. "Holy mustangs, Colonel, I don't think I've ever seen more surprised, wide-eyed rabbit stares!"

"No, Murdock, I don't think they expected a cowboy of your caliber to come out of the sky," said Hannibal, tugging up Murdock's cowboy to look him in the eye. "Nice job.

Murdock's smile showed the Colonel that the praise had hit home as he put on an exaggerated drawl. "Aw, shucks. I ain't done nothin' but my job, Sheriff. But I gotta git back to my herd now."

"Fool, you ain't got a herd, and you definitely ain't got no where to be but here," said BA, coming down the path at their voices. "Now you two ready to go before the police catch up, or is Face going to keep bleeding all over my van?"

Murdock blinked at the information. "Facey's been shot?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead jumping over the remains of the glider and scrambling up the dirt path. His hat whacked BA in the head as he went by, but BA was too slow to get his hands on the pilot.

Hannibal left the glider where it was and strode quickly up the path. "Face ok?"

"Yeah, it wasn't a bad one. We can stop somewhere and get it stitched up after we make sure the police aren't going to chase us through to Nevada," said BA. "Still can't believe you let that fool fly that thing, Colonel."

The black van was parked at the top of the trail. Slowly but surely it was looking like BA's long lost girl, back in Mexico all those years ago, and it was the closest thing to home the team had had in the past year. Murdock was already at the van, hovering around the back sliding door where Face was placating the pilot.

"Murdock, I'm fine, promise, it was just a scratch!" said Face, attempting to pull his arm away from the worried pilot's fingers.

Murdoch hung on, however, almost pulling Face out of the van in his attempt to wrap his bandanna around the wound. "It's still bleeding, Facey! We can't have you losing all your blood now, otherwise how are the girls going to fall for those rosy cheeks of yours?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Face looked up as Murdock continued, giving Hannibal and BA a 'please help!' look.

Hannibal looked at Face's arm with a look of concern as BA went around to the driver's side. Seeing that Face would be fine, Hannibal relaxed and patted Murdoch's shoulder. "Face, just keep some pressure on it. He'll be fine, Murdoch."

The bandana caused Hannibal to add, "Why don't you help him wrap it up properly?"

Face gave Hannibal a rueful glare as Murdoch scrambled in beside him. "Come on, Faceman, let's get you all patched up so you can go back to the rodeo and defend your title as bull riding champion! Gotta have a good arm to hang on with after all!"

"Crazy nut, Face ain't in the rodeo, but maybe a wild fool like you should be!" said BA from the front as Hannibal climbed in.

"It wouldn't be fair," said Murdoch with a shrug, glancing at BA with bright hazel eyes that always seemed to know a joke no one else got. "After all, me bein' able to talk with animals and everything, I have a clear upper hand."

"Since when can you talk to animals?" BA stomped harder on the gas at the thought. "You can't talk to animals, and your glider was no horse!"

Murdoch gave BA an incredulous look. "You can't talk about Thunder like that after she helped save the Colonel!"

Hannibal took out a cigar and gave BA a nod. "He's right, BA. Besides, you know how much I love it when a plan comes together."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful too," said Face as Murdoch finished his bandage. "Thanks, Murdoch. Anyway, I'm glad it all worked out, and that the police have the evidence against Monroe now, but really, did the plan have to include me getting shot?"

Hannibal looked in the rear view mirror at Face. "I never said get shot. I just said get caught, then get out so that the police would get here on time."

"It would have been nice if you'd told me the police chief was crooked," said Face, eyeing Hannibal. "And I know you knew, because you always do!"

"Think of it this way, Face." Hannibal paused, taking a puff from his cigar. "Now the police know he's crooked too."

Face opened his mouth to argue, but realized that the plan had been laid, once again, perfectly. Instead, he folded his arms and sighed. "All in the line of duty I suppose."

BA snorted. "And all for that sheriff's girlfriend too. Or was it the dealer's girl?"

Face held up his hands defensively. "Now, now, I know what you're going to say! But Karen ended up being some help! I mean, you can't say that those keys to the boot jack weren't helpful! Why, if I hadn't been in that bedroom at just the right time…"

"None of us want to know what you did in there, Face!" BA groaned from the driver's seat.

Murdock laughed and Face felt himself blush as he ducked his head in attempt to hide it. Nothing escaped the pilot's notice however and he teasingly poked the con man in the arm. "It's ok, Faceman. We know you like to have fun. Just don't tell any of your girlfriends about all the men you share a bathroom with each morning!"

Hannibal snorted at that and even BA chuckled. Face groaned and put his face in his good hand. "Remind me to never say anything about any woman ever again to any of you!"

Laughter erupted through the van again. Hannibal sat back as Murdock continued to tease Face about exactly the amount of time he spent in the bathroom and smiled to himself.

Everyone was safe, or safe enough. The plan had gone off without too many hitches and they were already a few hours to the border of Nevada, ready to cross and be out of the state before the troopers could think to call Decker. The folder had been handed over, with enough evidence to ensure that Monroe as put away for life, and the streets of Phoenix would be that much safer.

All in a day's work for the A-Team.

But as BA turned on the radio to drown out Murdock and Face, Hannibal looked out the window, the smiling fading as he thought. '_Too many drug busts this year to be a coincidence.'_

This was the second time this year they had busted a drug ring, and something was telling Hannibal that there could be a connection. His worries he had flipped through the file. Among the receipts was a name Hannibal knew well from a few months ago – Sanchez.

Sanchez had been a pain in the ass the moment they had set foot in Colombia. Granted, Hannibal wouldn't take being hunted down lightly either, but that operation had been particularly hair raising.

They had infiltrated via Murdoch, who pretended to be a pilot, they then lost the plane with the cargo via a fake crash, had Murdoch fake insanity (ok, that may not have been hard) in order to get Sanchez to come out, almost got killed in a fire fight at the hospital, ended up on the run through the jungle, and somehow had delivered Sanchez to the Colombian government just as they took off on an illegal flight out of the country.

Now, months later, Sanchez's name was popping up again and it worried Hannibal. It was how his mind worked. Instinct mixed with rationale and experience, and after years of trial and error, Hannibal had it down pretty pat and dry. And something was sending warning lights up.

BA noticed the silence and nudged Hannibal respectfully with his elbow. "Everything all right?"

Hannibal let out the breath he hadn't know he was holding. "I'm just wondering if the drug cases are connected or not."

The observation caught Face's attention, and he ignored the latest jibe from Murdock. "Connected? Why do you think so?"

"That file Monroe had," said Hannibal. "It had our old pal Sanchez in there, along with a few others. I'm not sure if he was just a supplier, or if it was just a record of a past deal. But if they've had contact, I think we can assume they're connected."

Murdock stroked his chin and scrunched his nose in thought. "Friends with Sanchez? I thought we were his muchachos! He told us so himself!"

BA snorted. "Don't you know the meaning of sarcasm, fool? He wasn't any friend of ours!"

A grin came over the pilot's face and he slipped into a Spanish accent. "You're right, because the fox has no friends!" And before BA could ask who the fox was Murdock was singing. "_Out of the night! When the full moon is bright, comes a horseman known as Zorro!"_

"You're a pilot, and barely one at that, much less a horseman, fool!"

Hannibal shook his head in amusement, and let the subject drop. He could see Face was tired, and Murdock was getting silly, indicating that the pilot was either wired and/or tired as well. They could all use rest, and he would think about connections while they crossed into Nevada and found a motel.

If they all got there in one piece.

"What the hell are you poking me in the neck with? That ain't no sword, and it better not be that plastic gun I told you to get rid of or I'd bust your head open with it!"

Four hours, fifty-eight minutes, and counting…

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Extra Points: Name what song the chapter title is from!


	3. Chapter 3:If It's Not Rough It Isn't Fun

**AN: **So this chapter is short because it is the villain's, and let's face it - most of us are here for the A-Team. But, since I felt like they needed at least their own chapter to promote ominous feelings, I gave it to them. And it took a long time to figure out a title for it too! I should update my music collection. Most of it is from the 1950s...

Anyway, I'm going to have the next chapter up hopefully this weekend, since this chapter is kind of a cop out in some (a lot of) ways. So stay tuned, and please review! I love getting mail in my inbox!

Also, I don't know much about drug rings except for what I learn on inaccurate television. I know more about what the drugs do to you, thanks to a rabid period of abnormal psychology obsession.

**cidril: **Correct! I'm glad I'm not the only one who knows the old theme! And thanks for the kind words.

**danang1970: **Thanks! The story will get darker, it's just taking a bit to get there.

**Disclaimer: **See chapter two.

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Chapter Three: If It's Not Rough It Isn't Fun

CHICAGO – ONE MONTH, THREE WEEKS EARLIER

His shoes made little sound against the plush carpet as he strode through the lobby of the third biggest hotel in the city. Nodding politely to the front desk, and watching in amusement as bellhops scrambled to get out of his way, the man entered the elevator and swiped his card for the suite. As the car rose, he glanced at his reflection and readjusted his sleeves with the black opal cuff links.

A thin, pale man with a scar under his right eye and fair blond hair that stuck closely to his scalp, Ivan was a man who was as dour as his appearance. He had many nicknames, none of which were ever called to his face, and was known for his specialty in the business as well as his steel grey eyes.

By the time the car got to the top, the sleeves were in place, his hair had been combed once more, and he was ready with the news. He stepped into the suite to the sound of "Symphony No. 5" filling the air. Ivan rolled his eyes at the music. '_Pretentious prick. Doesn't even know who composed this. He's probably listening to his sugary shit as we speak.'_

The suite was as posh as downstairs, if not more so. Crystal brandy sets, mahogany tables, roses in vases, it was all there and all shown in the most prominent way possible for one reason: presentation.

The boss was sitting at his desk, reading newspapers as downtown Chicago glittered in the background. Shorter, with dark blond hair and a short nose, the boss was known solely as Chenko to associates. He had several names, however, some of which appeared in the paper, and he was known for his power to charm away the company problems.

Normally charming, Chenko didn't even hear Ivan come in. Sure enough, he was at his desk with his head phones in, head bobbing. Ivan, not amused, cleared his throat, causing the shorter man to jolt.

"Ivan! Just the man I wanted to see." It was a bad save, but Ivan let it slide as Chenko hurriedly took off his earphones.

Faint music blared from the discarded headphones. _"I don't care what people say! The rush is worth the price I pay…"_

Ivan wrinkled his nose at the music but made sure to keep his voice straight. "Hudson's down. That makes three this year."

"What?" Chenko dropped the hand as surprise and rage burst across his face. "How can that happen? First Sanchez, then Monroe, now Hudson! God damn it, Hudson!" The shorter man threw his hands in the air and breathed heavily, turning to look out the window to calm down.

Ivan waited patiently, knowing the pattern and practically counting to ten with Chenko. Chenko placed a hand on a window pane and sighed. "Granted, Sanchez was arrogant, Monroe was sloppy, and Hudson was new. But we had just funded him for another year – enough to buy that new lab!"

"I believe it was the same thing as Sanchez and Monroe said; the A-Team struck." Ivan was careful to say his words slowly, monitoring Chenko's response.

Chenko rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, this A-Team that just so conveniently seems to show up and bust everyone not following their strict little more code. Ooooh, the boogey man is after me!"

"I'm just saying they might be on to us," said Ivan tersely.

Sitting back down, Chenko snorted into the black ink of his paper. "Right, well, if you think I'm going to be intimidated by the A-Team, then you're going to be disappointed."

Instead of arguing Ivan simply tossed a folder onto the desk. Chenko glanced curiously at Ivan, but the taller man was not one to give away information easily. Opening the file, article after article spilled out: 'A-Team Strikes Again', 'A-Team Saves Town', 'A-Team Takes Down Smuggling Ring'.

"Recognize this one?" said Ivan as Chenko pulled out an article with the headline 'Sanchez Taken Down!' Chenko stared in disbelief at the articles.

"Ok, so they might be on to us."

"I would suggest we start preparing for the fact that they know who we are," said Ivan lightly. "Particularly since you just cut that deal with Markov."

Chenko sighed at the thought, running a hand over his face. "God, don't get me started on the man. I don't know how I'm going to get that truck down town from the Northside if the police don't stop getting our men."

"I don't know either." Ivan couldn't keep the mocking tone from his voice. Oh, he had ideas himself, but while his brother was original owner, Ivan had no choice but to concede to the whim of the one who kept them all out of the paper and under protection of the city's best lawyer.

Chenko gave him a dark look, letting the articles drop. "Ivan, I know what you think of my leadership, but I'm going to be making the decisions here!"

Ivan's grey eyes snapped up. "What would you like to do then, _sir_?"

There was a tight silence between the two as Chenko pretended to look at the article once more. "Well…" He didn't know. "We should alert the other centers."

_Dumbass_. "Of course," said Ivan. "Might I suggest something?" At Chenko's nod, he continued. "This team is good. I've heard reports, listened to the rumors amongst the others. They have the ability to hit us hard if they find out more."

"IF they find out more," shrugged Chenko. "We're the tightest run group here – that's why we're still around! I think an alert will suffice."

Ivan's lip curled slightly in annoyance. "I don't wish to underestimate them."

Chenko glanced up, annoyed. "Then what would you suggest?"

"A full file pull. Police, state, county, whatever we can get on them. Contact the sleepers over at the LAPD and see what they can pull." Ivan didn't let the excitement crawl into his voice. The thought of going head to head with a team that had destroyed competitors – there was just a _bit _ of a rush in that.

"That seems extreme…"

Ivan put a hand on the desk and leaned in. "When you started this business, you remember what happened that first year. Remember?" Chenko nodded, stiffening at the thought. "Remember how the police had you cornered, and how your finances were on hold and your dealers were on strike? All because of that one new upstart?"

"What are you getting at?" Chenko tugged at his collar.

"You made me a deal. If I got you out of it, I get half a share of this company." Ivan leaned in closer, his nose now a foot away from Chenko's face. "I agreed to take over security and movement, and by god, if I'm going to do that, I need you to either come up with a plan about dealing with a contingency like the A-Team or let me do _my job_ and deal with this as I see fit."

Silence rose between the two as Chenko sat down, intimidated. Ivan leaned back, waiting. Finally, Chenko sighed and spread his hands. "All right. Fine. You can deal with this how you want. But if I fall behind in shipments, I'm blaming you."

Ivan nodded. "Of course. But you won't fall behind." At Chenko's raised eyebrow, Ivan gave a thin smile. "I think I know how to guarantee that downtown shipment makes it."

Chenko could only stare as his older brother turned and began to leave. "What, what is it? What's your big plan?"

Stopping at the door and throwing back a pointed grey look, Chenko didn't miss the gleam in his older brother's eyes. "Let's see how the A-Team does when someone takes it to the next level."

* * *

**Songs from Chapter Two: **Ghostriders, Zorro Theme Song


	4. Chapter 4: Don't Stop Us Now

**AN:** So we're finally back with the A-Team that we love! And I'm just starting to realize that I probably could have skipped these last three chapters, but I wrote them, so they're going up. I'm counting them as extensive background. Either way, I'm so sorry about the drabble. This is what happens when I get ahead of myself...

With that said, the next chapter will actually catch up to the summary. Promise! I just need to go through and edit what I have written now to catch up with some of the new changes in the plot.

For now, enjoy, and please REVIEW! :)

**Disclaimer: **See chapter three.**  
**

* * *

Chapter Four: Don't Stop Us Now

SAN DIEGO – THREE WEEKS EARLIER

"_BAM! BAM! BAM!_"

From the back of the packing truck, Murdock blew invisible smoke from his unfired AK-47. He nodded in satisfaction at the invisible cars destroyed, then, upon realizing those same cars had exploded, he crouched, his hands coming up to protect his head.

Next to him, Face rolled his eyes. "Hit a gas line?"

"One or two, I suppose," said Murdock, peeking out before getting up. "A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

"Uh-huh," said Face. He surveyed the 'damages' and pointed. "I think you missed one."

Murdock turned and fired off another round. "BAM BAM!" He made a sound like an explosion when his bullet hit. "HA!"

Face had to admit that the pilot was a good mimic as he snorted and glanced at his watch. The two were in a large moving truck off a side road, waiting for a sign to move. Hannibal had told them what they were doing, but exactly what they were waiting for he had only said they'd know.

The Lieutenant was starting to worry however, as the sun was setting and the plan had been for this to be over by nightfall. Murdock, noticing Face biting his lip, let his gun hang from its strap and came over to put a hand on Face's shoulder. "It'll happen. Next thing you know, we'll be seeing flares and fireworks and pigs flying by, and the Colonel and BA'll be in the thick of it all."

Face glanced at the pilot, whose brown eyes crinkled in the corners in reassurance. The con man knew things would work out…probably. But there was something comforting about hearing someone else say it out loud. And when Murdock said something with the exuberance his voice always held, you just had to believe him.

The con man put a thankful hand on Murdock's shoulder. "Perhaps not the pigs."

Murdock smiled and was about to say something when the blaring horns caught both of their attention. Turning quickly, sliding to opposite sides of the truck walls, they watched as several cars streamed by on the main road, driving recklessly in the same direction.

Face and Murdock looked at each other before breaking into action. As Face ran to the front of the truck to drive, Murdock grabbed a Kevlar vest and slammed the back door shut. Poking his AK-47 out of the rectangle in the back door (a new feature, thanks to BA), Murdock shouted at the back wall. "All systems go!"

The truck roared to life, starting roughly enough to send Murdock stumbling to one side. "Hey! Take it easy, Faceman!"

Face slid a larger door open near the cab. "Sorry! The brakes are sticky."

Murdock rolled his eyes. "Amateur."

If Face heard he didn't have time to answer, as he had to gun the truck to catch up to the pack. As they pulled out, however, more cars appeared behind them and began to open fire. Murdock pulled his hat down and grinned. "And we have Lucky Strike in the lead followed closely by Heart Breaker and Pot O' Gold!"

The AK-47 began to whine as Murdock took out the competition, the whole time keeping up the announcer voice. Face let Murdock do what he pleased, concentrating instead on figuring out exactly where the parking structure they were looking for was.

As he made a sharp turn, the back swaying, he heard Murdock grunt. Face glanced in the rear view mirror. "H.M.?"

"I'm ok!" said the Captain, already back at the window. "Get ready to feel this fox's bite, Jack of Clubs!"

Letting the incident go for now, Face saw the seven story parking structure up ahead on the right, the entrance covered by the cars from earlier. Face stomped on the gas. "Hold on, Murdock!"

Realizing that they were getting into position, Murdock fired off a few more shots before letting the gun go and taking hold of the back door. "Ready!"

"On my mark!" shouted Face over the noise. He swerved the truck at the last minute, missing the other cars narrowly. The back bumper scratched a few fenders as the large truck screeched to a halt a hundred feet or so from the parking structure entrance.

"NOW!"

Murdock kicked the door and shoved it upward to open as Face stomped on the brakes. The smell of rubber and screech of tires filled the air as the truck shuddered. As the truck stopped, Murdock fired off his gun once more, covering himself as he reached the recently added door to the cab and jumped backwards into it. Face closed the door just in time for a volley to ping against the reinforced metal.

"Huh, BA was right," said Face as the door actually held.

"BA's always right about these things," said Murdock, catching his breath. "You'd think that doors like this would be standard in this city, though!"

Face glanced over at his friend and paused at seeing blood on the pilot's arm. "What happened?"

Murdock shrugged, about to wave it off when the gun fire and shouting suddenly switched direction. The two looked at each other then rushed for opposite windows to see the spectacle.

BA's motorcycle was flying.

Or falling, depending on your view.

A small explosion had taken out part of the parking lot wall on the fourth story and with a roar of the engine, the modified cycle, looking more like an armored triangle with wheels, had gone through the hole. Now, as it flew over the parked cars, gun fire pinging off the metal, Face grabbed the gear shift and rammed the truck into reverse.

And with careful, painstaking precision, the hours of calculating and planning paid off as the motorcycle flew into the back of the truck.

"Yeeeeeeah!" shouted Murdock, the plan coming together before their eyes. "Yeah!"

As the truck ran into a car, Face shifted back into drive and lumbered off for the freeway. Metal fell off the bike as they began to lose the first cars and BA emerged, heading immediately to close the back door. The Colonel was the next to emerge, holding a briefcase and a file folder and looking no worse for the wear.

"Colonel!" said Murdock, moving over to make room.

The Colonel nodded to both before sliding in and taking ear plugs out. "A bit rough, but we got it."

"Colonel, you flew!" said Murdock, mimicking the motorcycle with his hand. "You-you flew! It was amazing! I want to come next time!"

Hannibal patted Murdock on the shoulder. "Next time, Captain. Next time."

"Is it all there?" Face asked, glancing at the briefcase.

"Everything we need to get that sucka," said BA, appearing at the back door, his own ear plugs already being tossed behind his shoulder. "We almost at the warehouse?"

"Two minutes," said Face.

"BA, you flew!" said Murdock, giggling a bit.

"That wasn't flying, that was falling," said BA gruffly. "And it wasn't for long neither."

Murdock giggled again and leaned back into his seat with a smile still on his face. "Next time I'll just say we're goin' fallin' instead of flyin' then."

BA eyed Murdock. "No way in hell I want to be falling anywhere with you!"

"One minute till we bail, boys," said Hannibal, watching as a warehouse approached quickly. "Better start slowing her down, Face."

By the time the other cars caught up, the truck had crashed through the other side of the warehouse. The motorcycle fortress was inside, in ruins, and the engine was leaking fuel. Tire tracks suggested another car, but by then it was too late.

The A-Team was gone.

Elsewhere, a black van slowed down at the police station. A briefcase came flying out, nearly clipping Earl Baker on his smoke break, before the van peeled away. Though it would take the bomb squad half a day to determine there wasn't anything harmful inside, later, the papers inside would become the key element to the incarceration of one city's drug lord and several associates.

The van sped away into the night, BA at the wheel and Face in the passenger seat. In back, Hannibal was letting Murdock tape up a cut on his arm, the pilot humming incomprehensibly as he did.

BA glanced in the mirror. "You all right, Hannibal?"

"I'm fine, BA. It's just a minor laceration," said the Colonel. He looked at Murdock and smiled. "Thanks, Murdock."

"No problemo," said Murdock, taping an X onto the end of the bandage, just for flair. He put a hand on Hannibal's arm and looked at him with grave eyes. "Now I don't want you liftin' anything heavy, and absolutely no microwaves. You're vulnerable to space rays right now."

"Got it," said Hannibal, nodding solemnly back. "You have my word, doc."

BA rolled his eyes. "There ain't no such thing as space rays and you know it, Hannibal!"

"Oh, Hannibal," said Face, remembering as he watched Murdoch move to put the bandages away. "Make sure Murdock gets his arm taped up too."

Hannibal looked over at Murdock, who waved off the concern. "It's nothing, nothing. Just a scratch, doesn't even hurt now."

Even with the assurance, however, Hannibal was already taking the bandage roll from Murdock. "Come on, Murdock. Let's get it over with." At the pilot's distressed look, Hannibal gave him a reassuring smile.

Murdock sighed before rolling up his arm. "All right, but no shots!"

"No shots," promised Hannibal. He took the younger man's arm and gently rolled back the sleeve.

Sure enough, it was a light scratch from a stray bullet and was an easy clean up. The pilot squirmed as the peroxide bubbled, but he took it without more than a, "Nothing like BA in New Mexico, eh?"

"What about me in New Mexico?" said BA, his head popping back up into the mirror.

"Nothing, just that you manage to attract more bullets than honey does flies!" said Murdock, his eyes flashing with a mischievous twinkle.

"Not my fault I'm always going in first to keep your skinny hide safe!" barked BA. "I'd like to see you beating in that guy's head with his own gun!"

"I can't," said Murdock, appearing defeated. But his eyes didn't quite convince anyone, and sure enough the retort slipped out. "That's why I keep you around!"

"Keep me around?"

BA growled to himself in the front as Face laughed, and Hannibal patted Murdock's arm. "There you go, Murdock."

Murdock looked at the handiwork and nodded his appreciation before dangling his arms around the driver's seat, messing his hands into BA's Mohawk. "You're the best thing to keep around, BA! Everyone should have one to build gliders and motorcycles for them and pity the fool for them."

"Fool, get your hands outta my hair or I'm going to make sure you can't use them!"

"BA! The wheel!"

The car swerved back into a straight line as Hannibal reached for a smoke. Murdock sat back as BA huffed angrily in the front seat and looked over at the Colonel. "Remember, Hannibal, you promised. Next mission you go flying, I get to go."

Hannibal smiled through the cigar. "Well, might be a bit sooner than you think."

Face's attention went from rummaging through the glove compartment to Hannibal's face. "What?" He wasn't amused.

Neither was BA. "Man, Hannibal, you better be kidding!" With a smile and a gleam, Hannibal pulled out a piece of paper from his inner pocket. BA smacked the wheel. "Damn, man! We just got off a job, and now we're going right back on the road?"

"I thought we would have at least a few days off!" said Face, gearing up for a protest. "I was hoping to actually relax and maybe even get a nice apartment for a bit before we moved out again! And, and Murdock's almost out of comics!"

Murdock nodded, looking at Hannibal with sad eyes. "Down to two, Hannibal."

Puffing a few times on his cigar, Hannibal let the protests slide off his back before saying, "It pays 500 thousand dollars."

That shut up Face, and even BA quieted at the unprecedented commission. Even Murdock cocked his head a bit. "That's a lot of comic books."

Face finally found his voice. "What's the catch?"

Hannibal blew out smoke. "It's in Chicago. And we're due next week." Fishing out a piece of paper from an inner pocket, Hannibal handed it up front to Face. "That's a copy of the e-mail the client gave me. Anyone heard of a man by Peter Chenkov?"

Face unsmoothed the e-mail. "Well, you know, as often as I get out, I just don't seem to know that name."

"I think he's got a hand in these drug rings we've been busting. In fact, I'm fairly certain he's in the top." Hannibal nodded towards the paper. "He also happens to be named in our next job."

The con man skimmed the e-mail. "Peter Chenkov…shipment arriving in on the 23rd…delivery by the 30th at the latest. Hannibal, this shipment is, is-"

"Worth well over $100 million dollars?" Hannibal was reaching back already and pulling out the file folder from earlier. "I know."

BA narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute, Hannibal, I thought that was evidence!"

"Oh, this?" The innocent tone didn't quite go with the gleam in the Colonel's eyes. "No, this is some background research."

Murdock grinned. Everyone knew what the gleam in the Colonel's eyes meant. "On the jazz, he still is!"

"Man, Hannibal!" BA couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice. "This whole mission was for that damn folder, wasn't it? For this next mission?"

"I love it when a plan comes together," said Hannibal with a grin as Face groaned.

Murdock held out his hands for the file and flipped through them when Hannibal handed it over. "Man's pleasant enough lookin'. Let's see, likes long walks on the beach, romantic candlelight dinners, and oh, running large drug rings in his spare time."

Hannibal chortled at the description as BA grumbled, "Crazy fool."

Face put his hands up and leaned back with a sigh. "I guess we're going to Chicago, huh?"

BA glanced in the mirror once more. "Hannibal, I don't like it. With that big shipment, you're sure to run into some powerful guns. And I ain't about to save all three of your asses from hired guns!"

"Don't worry, BA," said Hannibal, leaning back and picking up a book from the floor. "I've got a plan, and besides, we've got surprise on our side."

Murdock's nose wrinkled in thought as he closed the file. "Colonel, call me crazy, but ain't it a bit suspicious that we've had four jobs that just happen to be related to each other? And that this muchacho has his fingers in all of it?"

"Yes," said Hannibal. BA and Face both opened their mouths, but Hannibal beat them to it. "But I think, if we're being drawn in, we might as well go in pretending we don't know."

The pilot frowned, running a hand through his hair. "How is that going to help us not get shot, sir?"

Hannibal was a bit surprised at the sir, particularly as it meant the pilot was nervous. But instead of showing the surprise, Hannibal just gave a smile. "Because we've got a contact, and also, we're going to be getting there in plenty of time. We leave tomorrow."

Murdock didn't say anything, instead taking out one of his last two comics and flipping it open. The plan had been unsettling since the folder came out. There hadn't been much about Chenkov, but there was enough to show that he was hard to catch doing bad in the public light.

_Just jumpy. Was hoping for a break, that's all, _Murdock reasoned with himself as he brought out one of the two comics he had left. And it was true. He had been looking forward to some down time. Leaving immediately for another mission, well, it just didn't seem like such a good idea.

Hannibal noticed the lack of after-mission bounce and put a hand on the pilot's knee. "Hey. It'll be all right."

BA snorted as Face muttered, "Yeah, as we go in half blind."

Murdock mustered up a sloppy smile. "Sure it will be, Colonel. After all…" The captain's eyes glinted. "_When there's somethin' strange, in your neighborhood…"_

"NO. No, do not get that fool started, Hannibal!"

* * *

**Songs from Chapter Three: **Lady Gaga's "Poker Face", Ke$ha's "Your Love Is My Drug"


	5. Chapter 5: One Of These Nights

**AN: **Back, and with the chapter that I probably should have started this whole story with! Oh well, what can I say? I like to talk. But thanks to everyone who has been reading, particularly those who are spending their time reading it when they should be doing something else. Like homework. Or checking for space hamsters.

Also, I'm hoping that this series is still staying true-ish to the movie. It keeps oscillating for me, and sometimes I wonder if I should just reclassify it. But I love me some modern songs, and I see the two Murdocks as being similar, but different, and don't want to blend them together too much. Hopefully I'm still keeping within the movie-verse.

Oh yes, I finally saw "Curtain Call". Loved it, but I wish they hadn't used previous episodes. New material, people, come on!

Finally, sorry for the longer update time. I have a screenwriting fellowship I'm applying for (and procrastinating on right now) and am also looking at going back to flight school. We'll see what happens though.

PLEASE REVIEW! :)

**danang1970: **Thanks for reading and commenting! I've been trying to throw in series references, and I'm glad that the parallels are obvious. Hopefully I'll be able to work in more as I dive into season three, while still keeping the new-movie flair prevalent as well. I'm still trying to find the right place to get those Chucks in, after all.

**Disclaimer: **See chapter four.

* * *

Chapter Five: One Of These Nights

MOLINE, ILLINOIS – SIX DAYS EARLIER

The tension was still high that night as the four sat in the small diner, the plastic booth seats squeaking uncomfortably as Face and BA eyed each other from across the table. Hannibal watched it all with his chin in his hand. Murdock kept himself busy, crinkling up soda straw paper after soda straw paper, then dropping water onto it to see it unfold like a caterpillar, seemingly ignoring the exchange of glares. But Hannibal knew the Captain was just as aware of it as him, as the pilot kept glancing sideways through his bangs that had grown long since their stint on the road. While Hannibal wasn't a fan of the tension either, he knew that BA and Face needed to settle it and preferably not here in public.

A waitress came by with drinks, setting down Face's coffee in front of him with a shy blush. The con man snapped out of his staring match long enough to give her raised eyebrow and a smile. "Well hello, Karen, is it? Thanks for the drinks, babe."

The girl bit the bottom of her lip and smiled. "Of course. Your food should be out soon, but if you need anything..." She looked particularly at Face. "Just let me know."

She walked off, her hips moving a bit more than they had before and Face shook his head, amused. BA rolled his eyes. "We can't even go out for somethin' to eat and you're hittin' on the nearest thing with legs!"

Murdock looked up at that, blinking. "Technically, the nearest thing would be m-"

"It was figurative, Murdock!" said BA, glaring at the pilot to stay out of it. Murdock shut up and BA felt a quiver of guilt for snapping at the man. He turned back on Face, annoyed all over again. "Face, man, you got to keep your head in the game! You almost got me shot, fool!"

The meeting with their contact in Chicago had dissolved, as Hannibal had thought it would. As soon as the girl had stepped from the car, a fire fight had broken out, quite literally. Dodging Molotovs and backing into an abandoned Chinese dry cleaner, the team plus the girl had had to do some quick thinking to get out. Rerouting the steam had been the hardest part, but thanks to BA, they had managed to super charge a few of the irons. With Murdock acting as bait, they had drawn the assailants in, and it had been short work from there with the pressurized steam to get the men to drop their guns.

The plan had had only one small hiccup. Nearing the end, BA had missed one of the grunts going by. Face managed to take him down by shooting steam at the man's shooting arm, supposedly resolving the problem. Turning to help their contact up, Face and BA hadn't counted on the now down man to be ambidextrous. The wounded man had just enough time to grab his gun and shoot with his left hand. The shot had gone errant, thanks to the man's right handed orientation, but BA had almost come away with a hole in his arm.

"It wouldn't have been a problem if you had hit him when you got him the first time around," said Face, turning his attention to BA.

"Guys," said Hannibal quietly. The tone quelled the two for a minute as they realized the five other patrons in the restaurant were staring at them.

Face shifted and went to sip his coffee before remembering there was no sugar in it. He eyed BA, who was by the sugar. "Someone pass the sugar, please."

"What kind you want, Faceman?" said Murdock, pausing in his caterpillar making to look through the brightly colored packets. "Pink, yellow, white, or blue?"

"What?" said Face.

"Sugar, sugar," said Murdock, singing slightly. "So many choices, Faceman! Here, this one says Splenda - is that a gangster way to say splendid, Bosco?"

"Huh?" BA stared at the pilot. "What are you talkin' about? It's just sugar, you nut case! And when have I ever talked gangster?"

"I pity the fool that hurt my car!" BA had to admit, Murdock's impersonation was fairly spot on, and the pilot didn't stop there, shaking the sugar packet at BA. "What you gettin' at? We gonna die on this thing!"

BA moved to grab the sugar packet. "All right, you better stop that crazy man before my fool meets your fool head!" He raised his right hand to pack up the threat but Murdock knew it was empty.

"You'd never hit me," said Murdock, sending the large man a sweet smile. "You already told me, I had enough fool in my head for two! Not sure I'd have room for more, but for a fee of 5.99 a month I can hang on to it for you. Think of my head as a human safe of fool-hardy." Murdock rapped on his hat with his knuckles as if to show the safe-like qualities.

Face snorted and BA just stared. "Now you just talkin' crazy."

The pilot grinned. "When aren't I?" He leaned over and dumped the sugar packet into Face's coffee - packet and all. "There ya go, Face!"

"Hey, Murdock!" said Face, grabbing a fork to fish the packet out. "Come on, it's getting paper into it!"

"It's just paper product," said Murdock.

"Well, most of us don't eat paper," said Face.

"Waste not want not," said Murdock, giving Face a serious nod. "Don't knock it till you try it! HA! Get it? Knock it? Paper? Wood?"

"That's just stupid," said BA, no longer eyeing Face but Murdock.

"It is not!" said Murdock. "Here, I'll prove it." And then, picking up a pink packet, Murdock bit off the top half of the packet, sending sugar spraying. BA and Face just stared as they heard sugar crunching. Murdock made a face and spit out the paper into his hands.

"See? Not edible," said Face.

"No, it's not that," said Murdock with a methodical frown. He dumped the half eaten packet onto the table and picked up a white packet. "The trick's finding one without Red Dye #4!" And before BA could complain about the sugar on his jeans the pilot popped the entire white packet into his mouth.

"You crazy! God damn crazy fool!" said BA as Murdock swallowed and reached for another packet. "That's it, NO. I don't want to hear your teeth crunchin' on that shit for the next ten minutes till the food comes. BA grabbed the sugar packets away from the pilot, invoking a tug of war at the table as Murdock wrapped a hand around the other end. Face just chuckled, attempting to reach over for sugar packets he still wanted. The three dissolved into light bickering about who was in control of the sugar holder.

Hannibal shook his head, amused, and let his shoulders relax. By the time the food came, the tension would be gone, and if BA and Face felt like it, they could hash out their argument later. But this had happened before on the road, a side effect from a relatively new life style of close proximity with few breaks. The pilot's intervention had been a peace gesture. Face and BA would most likely drop their anger at each other and forget the argument had been going on until it was too late to muster the energy to continue it.

"I'm just saying that if you keep tugging on it, you're going to make the citizens very angry!" said Murdock as BA ripped the sugar away. "They've been waiting for a day to unfold their crystalline treasure to the world since they were wee little molecular children! Now you're denying them their one chance to fulfill their life purpose! They live for people like me to come and free them into the world."

"Right, I'm sure that's exactly what these packets of Sweet n Low's are sayin'! Shut up, crazy!" BA grumbled under his breath as he placed the packets at the far end of the table and dusted himself off.

As Face backed up Murdock, Hannibal caught the pilot's eye and gave a nod of acknowledgment. Murdock smiled, winked, and turned on Face again, attempting to persuade him that sugar was overrated anyway. As BA joined in the argument to ask why Murdock was suddenly switching opinions, Hannibal couldn't help but think: '_I love it when a plan comes together. Even if it isn't mine.'_

The food came before the sugar wars could commence, and the four dived in without so much as a cross glance at the other.

From across the room, four of the five patrons glanced over again before meeting each other's eyes. Underneath the black knit cap, Ivan nodded to the others and went back to picking at the French toast that had long gone cold. "Call the car."

* * *

The motel was like all the others, with the upgraded feature of actually having separate beds in each room. Face had managed it with just a smile and a compliment on the girl's hair. As they reached their respective rooms, BA glanced at Murdock, who was checking on the four sugar packets he had taken and stuffed into his jacket pockets as new friends. "Hannibal, we roomin' together?"

Face glanced at Murdock and barely kept in a groan. "Thanks, BA."

"That's for almost getting me shot!" said BA, grinning at Face as he slammed the driver's door shut.

Sighing, Face accepted it and opened the van door. BA was in a good mood, and so was he, which left little room or desire to bring up what had happened earlier that day. Murdock patted Face's shoulder as he followed him out.

"Don't worry, Faceman. Sweetums, Pinky, Whitey, and George won't keep you up."

"Good, because I'm more worried about you," said Face as the pilot went for his bag. He smiled, however. Truth be told, he didn't mind sharing a room with Murdock, and he even thought he'd seen an improvement in the man since the incidence on the docks.

Murdock hummed as he grabbed his half-painted satchel, reaching for it at the same time Hannibal was going for his sack. "Oh, sorry, Bossman."

"Not at all," said Hannibal. He let Murdock grab his things, thinking the same thing as Face.

It had been a rough few days for them all after the affair with Lynch, and for awhile, Murdock had had a few spells where his imaginings seemed to be more prominent than before. It had gotten better, however, and the fact that Murdock was able to switch from his sugar packets to singing was something that Hannibal saw as improvement. After all, he would know what the low was. He'd seen it a few times before…

"Hannibal?" Murdock's voice shifted the memories away, and Hannibal took the bag Murdock was offering him.

"Thanks, Murdock."

The pilot gave him a lopsided grin before turning to Face. "Face! Wait up! I want the bed by the window!"

BA shook his head as the red capped blur shot past him. "Crazy fool."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at BA. "Oh? What would you say if I also called preference on the window side?"

As BA sputtered, Murdock threw himself against the door just as Face slid the key in. "Last one in is a rotten egg!" With the advantage to him, Murdock got in first, tumbling in his enthusiasm and banging into the wall to steady himself. He barely noticed as he gunned for the window side bed and flopped onto it with an impressive belly flop. "Bonzai!"

"Murdock, shhh!" said Face, letting the door close and hoping that they wouldn't be hearing from the neighbors shortly. "We've got neighbors tonight."

"Right, right, rotten egg," said Murdock, his voice muffled as he buried his head into the dirty cream comforters. "Oooooh, Face, they're so soft! I can practically hear angels singing from up above. _Alleeeeeeeluia_…"

"That last hotel wasn't so bad!" said Face, a bit defensive as he set his own neatly organized bag on the other bed. "I got us upgraded."

"Best rooms in the house!" agreed Murdock, thinking back to the Motel 8 they had been in. "But still, Facey, these are like clouds bundled up with rabbits. No wonder those Chinese gods used to ride them everywhere!"

Face sat down and had to admit, that they were a bit better than the last place. "All right, all right, you're right."

Murdock grinned. "When are you going to realize, I always am?"

"When you stop picking up loose sugar packets to take home," said Face, standing as he dug out his toiletries bag that he insisted had to house his toothbrush from the rest of his clothing. In his defense, half of his shirts had blood on them, and who wanted that in their mouth? "I'm going to take the bathroom for a bit, if that's ok."

"Only if you come out this century," said Murdock.

"Ha, ha." Face grabbed the ice bucket sitting on the dresser and tossed it at Murdock. "Mind getting some ice?"

The pilot caught the bucket easily. "What for?"

"Your arm. You know, from that steam blast."

"I told you, I'm fine! It doesn't need ice, Faceman. Barely even singed myself."

"Fine, my head!" The bathroom door shut, and Murdock reluctantly got up to go get ice.

"Only because you asked so prettily!" said Murdock through the bathroom door before heading out into the rapidly cooling night.

Shivering slightly in his jacket at the change in temperature, Murdock looked around for the ice machine before spotting a sign pointing up the stairs. Taking the concrete steps two at a time, he couldn't help but sing quietly to himself. "_Ice, ice baby…"_ It had been a good night and since Face was in a good mood the pilot figured he'd have the opportunity to finally beat the con man in cards.

"That's right, Whitey, haven't beat him yet," said Murdock as he reached the second floor. "I think he hides things up his sleeves too, George. Like a regular Houdini."

The sugar packets conferred amongst themselves, opinions and theories flying as Murdock started up the ice machine. The cold cubes clinked as the bucket rapidly filled, but Murdock paused when he heard someone cough around the stairs.

"Hello?" Perhaps one of the others had come out for ice too.

His senses now alert, Murdock gripped the ice bucket and glanced at the door. Nothing. He was tempted to call out again, but for a moment, he froze as he thought of the possibility of a government agent being outside. With a quiet breath, Murdock gathered his courage and stepped outside. Two pairs of hands grabbed his arms. Semi-prepared for it, Murdock let his weight drop and wiggled out of his jacket and as the ice bucket fell. Caught off guard, the two men dropped his coat, but had already missed their change to grab the slippery pilot. Freed momentarily, Murdock scooped up the bucket as defense as another man stepped forward, gun ready. But Murdock was ready. Flinging the ice into the man's face, the Captain gained enough of an upper hand to punch the man's elbow and rush through the now limp arm.

The pilot's mind was a jumble, his mind in over drive. '_These guys don't seem like military! There's no light shinin' off their lapels!' _Then again, he couldn't expect military police to go around in uniform every day! They were probably plain clothes cops.

"Colonel-!"

He hadn't seen the fourth man hiding on the first landing and the Texan ran right into the man's open arms. This man was the grunt, Murdock could tell by the way his arms encircled him like steel snakes. It didn't mean he wouldn't struggle anyway.

"BA-!"

The grunt covered Murdock's mouth with a hand and that's when Murdock felt inspired. Planting his feet and jerking himself like a fish out of water, Murdock bit down hard on the man's hand, adding growling for effect. It worked. The man let go, surprised, and Murdock bolted for the ground floor. He didn't know when it happened, or who, but somehow someone grabbed his shirt collar and flipped him over the edge onto BA's van below. The last thing he saw was the railing go underneath him and a black hood coming up to smack him in the face.

Blackness came instantly.

* * *

As BA came in from locking the car, he was a bit surprised to find Hannibal stretched out on the bed by the window, his hand mid massage of his temples. "You all right, Hannibal?"

"Just thinking some things through," said the Colonel, giving BA a small, tired smile.

"I keep half expecting military police sirens to go off," said BA, rechecking that the window blinds were indeed closed. "That was a close call last week."

"But we gave them a good slip, and they'll be tied up for a few days cleaning up the mess on the I-5," said Hannibal. "Thanks to you and Murdock."

BA grunted, pleased, as he dug out his clippers from his bag. "That was a pretty good time, wasn't it?"

"Indeed," said Hannibal. From somewhere nearby a door opened and closed. The two waited for footsteps to pass before speaking.

"Hannibal, I gotta ask," said BA as he slipped into the bathroom. "Why are we going after all these drug guys all of a sudden?"

"We're getting paid," said Hannibal smoothly, digging out his nine millimeter as it suddenly began to press against his side.

"For all of them?"

"Yes. The Arizona job got us the San Diego one, which got us this offer. Sounds like Chenko has some deep enemies."

"Yeah? Well, considering the ambush today, I'd say we lost our surprise, Hannibal."

The thought was part of why Hannibal was attempting to massage away a headache. While the contact was still alive, and still willing to meet them again, Chenko was bound to know they were here right now.

"I know, Sergeant. It just means we need to keep on our toes."

From the bathroom came a gruff snort. "Is that why we're almost three hours out of Chicago?"

Hannibal dug around in his pockets for a cigar. Not finding one, he reached for his jacket at the foot of the bed. "Like you said, we've lost our surprise. And I don't want to be caught unaware in another fire fight. Besides, they'll have her tailed in Chicago. If I know them, they'll assume we're casing the city tonight, or going back to the hotel from earlier this week. And I'm sure they've been watching us."

The truth was that they had been ambushed in Chicago. He had expected it, but hadn't expected the gang to be that organized, and it had unnerved him. They'd gotten out, but ever since then Hannibal had had a feeling that said to take this one easy. And he always tried to listen to instinct as well as rationale. His instinct was why they had spent the hours after the attack searching the car for bugs, retrieving the van from the storage place they had rented, and even splitting up into different parts of the city to regroup just outside of Westmont to continue on.

BA grunted. "Explains why we left as tourists this afternoon." He hoped he never had to see that tacky sweater vest again.

As if hearing the displeasure in the big man's voice, Hannibal smiled. "I think we've lost them enough. Four hours of winding around should have done the trick. We're moving in the morning."

BA raised an eyebrow at himself in the mirror, clicking the clippers on and off as he decided, then second guessed himself. He might not understand the plan, but then again, half the time he never did. It would work out. "Whatever you say, boss." Seeing a spot he wanted to trim, BA turned the clippers back on as the railing outside rattled. He eyed the door. "Damn fools, don't they know people here are going to sleep soon?"

That's when BA heard it. The unmistakenable scream of his baby as something large and heavy hit it. He'd heard that sound once, in Mexico, and it was instantly familiar. BA dropped the clippers and headed for the door.

"Some fools better not be messing with my van!"

With Hannibal right behind him, his gun held out of sight, BA ripped open the door and stomped outside. A silver car sped out of the parking lot, followed by a white van, sending off warning bells even as BA looked at his car. The hood was damaged and the window was cracked. For some reason, glass was all over the sidewalk despite the windshield being in tact.

Face emerged from his room, a toothbrush still in his teeth and toothpaste on his upper lip even as his hand gripped his gun. "Wha wha dat?"

BA ignored him. "My car!"

Hannibal watched the cars speed away. Face followed his glanced and his eyes narrowed as he spit out the toothbrush. "Fuck it. I thought we'd have lost anyone in Chicago!"

"Perhaps. To be safe, we'd better leave."

BA swiped the 'glass' off his car and grunted when he discovered what it was. "How the hell did ice get on my car?"

The word caused Face's toothbrush to fall out of his mouth. "What?"

"Damn ice cubes all over my car!"

Hannibal watched Face's face pale. "Murdock."

"What?"

Face ignored the question and sprinted up the stairs, Hannibal right behind him. BA turned, confused as they went, and made to follow. Something stopped him, however, and he went back to the hood of the car, examining the something on the side. He bent down to pick something up off the ground.

The younger man reached the top first, freezing at the top step as the ice machine room told the story. An abandoned bucket, ice falling off the flooring, a crumpled jacket left in the entrance. Face wasn't sure, but there may have been blood on the floor. But he wasn't thinking about that right now. He couldn't think about that right now.

"Murdock! Murdock, come on!"

Hannibal frowned at the scene. It wasn't looking good. Tracing the ice to the edge of the hallway, Hannibal looked down over the stairs. There had to have been more than one guy, and judging from the two cars – the silver one having room for maybe four, the van six – and assuming that they hadn't wanted to draw too much attention to themselves, Hannibal guessed there had been around five, maybe six here.

"Hey, guys!" BA waved up the two, motioning to the van hood. "Ain't got good news; I found blood." He lifted up a familiar red hat. "And this."

Face felt his knees lock. He put a hand to the rail as he shut his eyes, regaining his balance. Ice, he shouldn't have sent him out for ice. He'd just been trying to think ahead, to make sure the pilot had been taking care of himself. His heart was racing as he looked over the edge of the railing. How far had Murdock fallen? The Lieutenant's mind ran through scenarios, none of them ending well.

Hannibal wasn't staring at the van, however. He had picked up Murdock's jacket and was holding something in his hands. "BA."

BA looked up and Face tore his eyes away from the van. "Yeah, Hannibal?"

"Change of plans. We're checking out." Hannibal turned, a pay-as-you-go phone in one hand, Murdock's jacket over his shoulder.

He paused by Face, looking the distressed young man in the eyes. Hannibal saw the worry in Face's eyes and knew that the Lieutenant was already blaming himself for the incident. But there wasn't time for that now, and the truth was that Hannibal needed his con man more than Face needed a moment to take it in. "Come on, Lieutenant," said Hannibal. "We've got a man missing."

Face snapped out of the wild eyed staring and nodded. "Yes, sir."

BA slammed a hand on the hood of his car as they came down, pacing irritably and breathing heavily. The large man didn't say anything as the other two came down, though Hannibal saw the big man's grip tighten on the red cap. "This is shit, boss."

Hannibal had to agree. He put a hand on the Sergeant's shoulder. "We'll get him back. Now come on, soldier. Time's wasting."

'_Oh we'll get him back. And they'll get more than they bargain for,' _Hannibal thought to himself as he threw open the van door.

* * *

**Songs of Chapter Four: **"Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen, Ghostbusters Theme Song


	6. Chapter 6: We Are Strong

**AN: **Woah, wiggy update indeed. So, yeah. I'm fairly embarrassed with how long this has taken. Particularly as it was done and just waiting to be added onto and changed so it didn't read like a fourth grader wrote it.

Anyway, I have a killer headache, so I'll cut to the chase: WARNING. This chapter has (somewhat?) graphic torture. Not necessarily blood and gore, but torture is torture. Just thought I'd warn ya.

Also, this chapter is dedicated to cidril, who kicked my butt into updating. PLEASE REVIEW!

**danang1970: **Haha, thanks! That's one of my favorite lines. :)

**jacquiline: **Hope this chapter answers your question about what happens!

**Cidril: **Thanks for the review kicking my arse! I'm so honored you check back here for this: I will try to make sure my updates are more regular from now on. :) And I'm glad you like the guys. They are fun to write and sometimes just flow through me onto the screen: no me needed.

**Disclaimer: **See chapter five.

* * *

Chapter Six: We Are Strong

UNKNOWN – SIX DAYS EARLIER

He can handle this.

That's what he kept telling himself, even as his heart tried to leap out of his chest and his breathing struggled to keep up. He'd had panic attacks before, had medicine for it back in the van. But there were times when there wasn't medicine and he had lived through those. It just had to stop before it went down _that_ road. The one lined with dirt and sand, and glaring sun as sweat glistened in the sun, blood dripping-

No. No, don't go there! Think of anything else – sand, the beach, Caribbean, pirates, eyeliner on that Cuban girl in that one movie, flowers in your hair, San Francisco (a place he still hadn't been), tambourines.

Take the panic, pack it down, put it into a bottle. Rows and rows of bottles; place it on the shelf amongst the fray then close the door. Murdock felt his heart beat slow down a bit and he found that the rushing sound in his ears was starting to fade. Calm and cool as a cucumber. He had to be. Giving a soft sigh in relief, the pilot waited a moment longer for the blood to die down completely before lifting his head.

Nothing.

He couldn't see anything or hear anything either. Whoever had tied this blindfold had been good. Ok, anyway, moving on before the panic came back. No, wait, it was coming back and that's because his hands and feet are tied down. Shit shit shit.

A moment of blackout and when Murdock came to he found himself writhing in the chair he was in, wrists and ankles tugging so hard on the nylon ties that scrapes were already starting to form. Memories crashed in his head. White walls, white doors, white people, white light, can't move and now they're giving him an injection of-

'_Stop!'_

That simple word bought Murdock enough time to breathe, and breathe again. These aren't hospital restraints – he hasn't been there in years (don't think about it). They're just stupid little ties he uses himself and look, he can imagine how easily scissors could cut through them. He felt better at that, though his heart continued to try to pull a Bonnie and Clyde and get out of town.

He can handle this.

Ok, back to inventory. Do it like Hannibal would. Arms are numb which means no circulation. Conclusion: unconscious for a few hours. Matted hair meant blood. All right. Mouthful of iron, also blood. And the entire right side of his body was throbbing; that meant a bruised rib (cracked?), sore wrist, and a sore shoulder. So nothing that wouldn't heal.

Check.

Now, why was he tied to a chair, oozing from a cut on the head, and unable to see or hear anything due to the thick blindfold on his head? That one wasn't so easy to answer. Particularly when the threat of panic still lingered.

The last thing he remembered was hitting something black and hard…a car. No, BA's van. Shit, that couldn't be good. But why had he hit, no, fallen on the van? The details are still blurry… Oh yeah, there had been some guys. But they weren't _the _guys. Wait, huh? Now he's confusing himself… He's just going to assume he's kidnapped.

Check.

Well ok then. It wouldn't take too long for someone (the A-Team, those guys, his friends!) to notice he was gone (ice!, he'd gone for ice), and hopefully whoever had taken him was stupid enough to drop their wallet or even run into someone on the way out. He'd fallen on a car, for crying out loud! Someone had to have noticed that! Thinking about rescue wouldn't help him now, though, so Murdock did the next best thing and worked at getting the blindfold off. It was tied pretty well, but they hadn't counted on a master escape artist.

Unfortunately, he was five seconds away from having it off enough to see when a door slammed open. Murdock's ears rang at the sudden noise as three figures stepped in, feet stopping a few feet in front of him.

There was a minute of silence before Murdock flashed a smile at the direction of the noise. "Nice accommodations, though I have to say, I'm not going to be leaving stellar reviews when I check out. I didn't get my wake-up call!"

"He's awake, Ivan." Tenor voice, to his right, thick Chicago accent and a slight whine to it. Murdock decided to call him Drone; it seemed appropriate.

"Obviously." Annoyance was evident. "I thought I told you to make sure that thing was on." This was in front of Murdock, a calmer voice that the pilot disliked immediately. It reminded him of a hospital doctor who had been working in emergency medicine for too long.

"I got it." A smug voice to his left, and definitely from a deep voiced man. Probably an ugly brute too, which was why Murdock gave him the name Mugsy; only a mug shot a mother could love.

A rough hand was suddenly jerking the blindfold back up. Sounds began to hit the pilot's senses as his ears were left free: the humming of an air conditioning unit, the tapping of a shoe, the rustle of what was probably expensive clothing (nicer than Face's?). Anything else was drowned out by the sound of tape being ripped off a roll, right next to Murdock's ear.

The pilot shied away, making a face. "Hey now! Goin' to rip out my ear drums being that close with that. Though, you know, I guess that's technically impossible-"

"All right, all right, shut up!" Mugsy growled, jerking the pilot's head around sharply.

Hm, this wasn't nice. Duct tape had a nasty habit of coming off painfully. And Murdock wanted to be able to see who these guys were, so as to better direct B.A. to which one to grab before Murdock went after them himself. Either way, Murdock didn't like being limited in what he could do, so he struggled. Mugsy grunted at the opposition and gave Murdock a swift punch to the cheek that left the pilot seeing bright green squiggles. Ok, maybe tape wasn't so bad. At least it wasn't against too much raw skin. But damn, it would hurt getting off. Hopefully BA had some tricks up his sleeve for situations like this…

And naturally, as another layer of tape went on, Murdock opened his mouth. "Well, didn't realize you guys were that concerned about sun damage on my pretty little corneas! Thanks for caring."

"Talkative one," said Drone, a frown on his voice. "Which one did we get?"

Mugsy stepped away as Murdock heard a file open. "Captain James H.M. Murdock. Clinically insane, pilot, provides back-up and aerial support." It was Ivan.

Murdock frowned. Where had they gotten that information? He switched to his English accent. "Wasn't aware we'd met, gov'ner. Where was it, that concert in Salisbury? Or was it that grand affair in Berlin, perhaps?" A sudden switch to a Southern drawl, not too hard for him. "No, no, surely it was that party, under the magnolia trees as the quartet started the last waltz of the evening! Weren't you the one in that oh so sophisticated chiffon piece?"

If they wanted clinically insane, that's what they'd get. He was rewarded when he heard Mugsy mutter, "Fucker's nuts."

"_I've got a bunch of little coconuts, diddly-diddly-" _Murdock didn't get to finish the song, as a fist suddenly caught him square in the nose. He felt bone break and a stabbing pain as blood practically shot out of his nose in attempt to find freedom in the world of free-flowing oxygen.

The pain made the squiggles come back, with a few pink and purple friends. As Murdock flip flopped between whether or not he should ask if it was coconuts or "diddly-diddly" that had been too much, Ivan's voice came back. "Now, Mr. Murdock, as much as we appreciate your enthusiastic entertainment, I'm afraid it's time to get down to business."

Murdock snorted, wincing at the action. "You know, I'm starting to think your website lied about the service here. Seems more like a half star instead of four. Maybe one if the continental has waf-"

He had been expecting the next blow, this time to the side of his face. He was seeing stars even in the blackness but at least he had forgotten about the headache. He could deal with this, though. Pain, simple pain, physical and something that couldn't chase.

He could handle this.

A clucking noise came from Ivan. "We can do this one of two ways."

Ah. Ok, Murdock knew where this was going. Thugs were so predictable, and he had already been through situations like this with the army and with the team. There wasn't anything new here. Nothing to be afraid of. He's gone through this before.

The Texan had to laugh. "The easy way or the hard way! Every action movie and heist movie, muchacho. You going to tie me to the rail road tracks next?"

Again, another punch that left his jaw blistering, and this time Murdock had to stop and make sure that his jaw hadn't been broken.

Ivan wasn't amused. "I'll make this simple, Mr. Murdock." God, he hated that – that name made him sound like his father, and if there was one thing the pilot never wanted to be it was his father. "We know you're with this so called A-Team, Mr. Murdock, and we have some questions regarding your little band of outlaws."

'_How much do they know?' _Murdock thought to himself as he waited for the throbbing in his jaw to stop. Realizing they were waiting for him, Murdock swallowed and put on a cocky grin he knew would annoy. "The A-team? Oh man, I wish! They're so dreamy. I didn't know you were a fan! Are you a member of the fan club?"

This time the punch hit home on his jaw and Murdock couldn't hold back a grunt. He'd bit his tongue and could feel blood pooling in his mouth. He still hated the metallic taste of blood, even after years of biting his lip (on purpose and accidental). Murdock didn't bother to look up again, instead waiting for the black spots to fade and trying to figure out exactly how you fixed a fractured jaw with the medical kit in the van.

"I know you're not quite right in the head, but I'd appreciate it if you'd pull yourself together for a minute and help me out here," he heard Ivan say. "Now are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Murdock waited a moment, letting blood drip out of his mouth before he gave a short, soft laugh. He had just the song… "_Got a good reason! For taking the eeeeeeasy way out now!_" He laughed at his own inside joke, ignoring the pain, focusing on the funny, on the persona that was rising, the manic thing that found everything hilarious and blocked the pain.

He could handle this.

The joke was lost, as Murdock knew it would be. But even as the pilot steeled himself for another blow, he was surprised by a soft chuckle from Ivan. "I like him." The comment got Murdock to pause, ice slowly crawling into his veins. God damn it, he really didn't like the man's voice, but his laugh was even less likeable. "Bring him over."

And one set of footsteps left as Drone and Mugsy moved forward. Suddenly, Murdock wasn't quite as sure he knew where this was going. Something moved inside of him and the tight coil that Murdock had trained himself to hold, to rely on, quivered a bit. Things were moving.

But he'd seen a lot of movies (hell, lived through worse than the movies), and besides, the guys would be here eventually. He just had to hold out. So he steeled himself and took some deep breathes to ward off the panic that had begun to rise.

The pilot had been hoping that Drone and Mugsy would be stupid enough to cut off all of the nylon ties at once, but he was disappointed. As soon as one wrist was freed, a handcuff was slapped on, then connected to the twin in the front. Fire raced up his arms enough to make him whimper softly. Blood rushing back in. A good sign, indicating the nerves weren't dead, but oh man, it hurt more than the one time he had touched the grill for a half second.

Before he could focus on the grill and exactly what meat he had been cooking, Murdock was yanked to his feet so quickly that the pilot's head rushed. By the time he fought back the invading black squares, he was being dragged…somewhere. Part of his mind started to panic again, his brain practically flipping over as it tried to drudge up past times he had been dragged off to somewhere he didn't want to go. It took all of his willpower to regain control and neatly bottle panic up and sealing it away in the tidy little place it had. Releasing it now wouldn't help anything. And there were other things he wanted, no, needed to concentrate on.

The sound of water running, for example, the liquid hitting a bucket and filling up. Now what would you need a bucket of water for? Watering flowers, washing the car, throwing on Face as he walked out of the barracks, all yes. But down (or up?) here wherever they were? No clue.

"I'm feeling generous," said Ivan, suddenly by Murdock's right ear, his voice loud over the noise. "You see, I don't necessarily need you to agree to help. But you have spirit, and I like that. So I'll ask one time. Will you help me hire the A-Team, or will I need to use more drastic measures?"

He couldn't stop himself. "Hire?" What?

"Yes. I want to…hire the team for a job." The voice was smooth, calm, practiced. Too practiced. Murdock knew what voices wanted when they were that gentle.

"What kind of job?" He needed information to bring back to Hannibal.

"Just a job." The voice was smiling, Murdock could tell. "So, what's your answer?"

"I…" He didn't trust Ivan, didn't like his voice, and there was no way this 'job' was anything pleasant. Protect the guys. Murdock counted to four in his head before snapping into, _"Can't get noooo! Satisfaction!" _A song, someone else's words, was easier right now.

Ivan sighed. "Tie him down."

That shut up Murdock fast. Shit. Tie down? Tie down how? A million things flashed through his mind as to what that phrase meant. None of them were particularly pleasant. But god damn it, he was a Ranger, and Ranger's could take it. Never mind that most Rangers hadn't spent years in mental hospitals, where tying down meant shots, electricity, quiet time alone for hours on end. But he was a Ranger, and more importantly, he was one of Hannibal's Rangers, and he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

So Murdock steeled himself and yanked down on the handcuffs hard. His wrists would pay for it later, but he was rewarded with Drone stumbling. The pilot's leg flashed out with a side kick at Mugsy and sure enough, the big man hadn't had time to move.

"What the hell?" That would be Mugsy.

With both hands free, Murdock immediately turned and fled blindly in the direction he thought they had come. One step, two step, red fish, blue fish – shit, that was a wall. But no matter, he ran with a hand on it and found the door jam, his fingers curling around it.

"OOF!" Both Murdock and Drone had the wind knocked out of them as the latter tackled the former. Even before he hit concrete, however, Murdock was fighting, scratching and shoving and throwing double fists as he scrambled to get up.

"Shit, boss!"

"Ha!" The cry slid out of Murdock as he stood, not bothering to be careful about stepping on Drone as his hand curled around the door jam once more. "Sayanar-"

The word died when two large hands curled around his throat and yanked him off the ground. Murdock's arms flailed for a moment as they tried to grab onto those hands. It was like grabbing a fucking tree.

Breathe, breathe, breathe! The pilot's body was screaming, but nothing went in or out. But no, he could handle this! Just keep your chest still and use your nails, claw at the soft part of the wrists.

"Fuck! Stop that you little shit!" Evidently Mugsy didn't like his plan, as the hands tightened and Murdock felt himself being shaken.

Ok, perhaps it was in his best interest to stop. Especially since a whole host of squiggles had appeared and were doing the cha-cha and salsa and was that a meringue going on in the upper left eyelid?

Murdock felt his fighting stop as he simply held on, trying to breathe. He didn't hear what was said but suddenly he was dropped and air rushed in. Beautiful air, glorious air! Airairair that was cold, and cool, and hurt his throat but totally worth it, just like that WD-40 salsa he had made that one time. When the pilot finally finished coughing and shooing away the stars from his mind, he realized that he was being dragged back over to the corner. The water was starting to sound less ferocious as the bucket filled and even as Murdock realized that small fact he was kicked onto a tilted platform.

He let himself freak, told himself he was in control. The coil came unwound just a bit and then he was bucking and thrashing like a jumping bean. He'd had practice, perfecting this act. The key was letting a bit of the real stuff slip in.

And it worked for a few moments. He can hear shouting and he managed to knee someone – Drone he thought – hard enough in the face for blood to fleck onto the pilot's chest. What he didn't expect was the swift kick to his left side, again and again. Pain exploded and he shuddered. He didn't even realize that it was him groaning until the forced panic was pushed away.

"God damn it, why is this so hard? Keep him down now!" Ivan wasn't happy.

'_Makes two of us,' _thought Murdock as he curled up, partly in pain and partly because he knew it would be harder to get at his handcuffs that way.

Mugsy growled as he forced Murdock to roll onto his back. There was a brief struggle over who got control of his arms, and Murdock sadly lost when another blow fell on his already fractured jaw. He howled and Mugsy straightened him out with a strong, heavy arm across his chest. Even as he felt the pressure from the man's arm, however, Murdock could feel the pain being pushed away as he realized the platform he was on was slanted downward. Why? His mind buzzed, along with a thousand other worries and concerns. Focus, focus (one at a time).

"Boss, he fucking broke Jerry's nose." Ah, so that's Drone's name. No, Drone fits better.

Speaking of Drone…Murdock could feel the man at his feet, attempting to hold them down. Now that he did NOT appreciate. He managed to kick out but was rewarded with a sharp, driving punch to the side of his knee cap that brings out a loud short howl of pain. He regrets letting it show, but he's never been very good at keeping emotion in. He's built with too much inside to keep much from leaking out.

He's going to try to get himself put together, though, because now he's afraid that he's let a bit too much of the crazy out. So Murdock blocks out what is going on until he feels comfortable to start paying attention again. "All right, mates." The Australian accent always makes him feel better. "Now that we're all a bit happier, what've you got for me?"

No one answered. They'd been busy, securing him with strong, sure holds and dipping something into the pail of water. Opening his mouth to complain about being ignored, Murdock was surprised when a heavy cloth was carefully put over his nose and mouth. Suffocating heat started to settle. Murdock thrashed his head slightly, but moving his jaw was beginning to hurt, and his head had begun to pound against the stimuli.

Still, Murdock found the strength to muster a retort to the silence. "Oh, well, if we're going to play blushing bride, don't you think I should be wearing-"

The water hit with a cold splash.

And he was drowning in seconds. Water rushing through his nose and mouth, the cloth cloying and sticking to his face and down his throat. Struggling, bucking, gurgled screaming as his throat violently protested. The stream stops just as he feels like puking, trying to puke, get out get out get out! He could just imagine the water seeping into his lungs, and then he was coughing, fingers hyper-extended as they tried to hold on to something.

The coil was starting to move and a voice in his mind asked if he really thought he can go through this situation.

"Right, well, that shut him up." It was Drone, sounding a bit nasally but spite clear enough in his voice.

Something moved over the pilot's head as he lifted his head, trying to dispel the water. Ivan's voice flickered in. "Mr. Murdock, I ask one more time, and only once more. I'm being generous by even asking again. Will you help us?"

If he could focus his eyes, he could ground himself. But he can't, so he's going to have to focus on something else to bring back his mind for a retort. There, a dripping noise. No, ok, bad idea as it makes him take a shuddered breath. The air conditioning unit is still going, ok, it's humming. Ohm, ohm, ohm like a Buddha. Smoke rising in a shrine-NO. Not there! Ohm, ohm, ohm like bells.

His mind surfaces, and he pushes everything down. A smile spreads on his face. _"Raindrops keep falling on my head…but that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red!" _Ok, a bit weaker than previous renditions, but it gets the point across.

Because while this may suck, and he can feel himself falling into panic, the point is that he's a Ranger. He's going to keep telling himself that he's a fucking Ranger, and he's one of Hannibal's men. He will be rescued, and there's no way he's going to be rescued broken (not again).

His answer was met with more water. It went on longer this time, and as it splashed into his ears and clogged his nose, his body thrashed. Live live live! Breath, no, can't, too much liquid. He could hear his mind screaming at him, telling him to panic, while the part of his mind that made the coil was frantically trying to get him to calm down and think rationally and not tear apart everything he's so neatly catalogued.

Murdock almost didn't catch when the water stopped and only fully realized it had when he was sobbing in relief, coughing up water and dry heaving when there was nothing left to choke back up. He felt like he could throw up everything, like BA did on the milk chugging challenge. His mind was swimming as the image flickered away. His mind was swimming in war now, too deep to concentrate on the Corporal's form, and the panic was starting to win. Ground yourself, man, ground yourself! Water, boats, the harbor…he was having trouble naming the harbor they had just been in, a few weeks ago. Was it in San Diego? The details were suddenly foggy.

He heard voices above him through the fog, talking slower than was probably normal. "At 9am we go online. We need him alive, so keep him that way. But make it look convincing."

"How much alive?"

"Enough to be aware."

"…how much is that?"

"Don't kill him."

At least they weren't going to kill him, and wasn't it nice to be relieved about that? Murdock had to laugh at that, to laugh at how this was really how his life was: being glad over not dying today at the hands of torturing mad men. Move over fucking Hollywood, because he's got the best damn story in the house. You see, it started back in Mexico…

The cloth is back again and so is the sound of sloshing water. And even though he'll scream and writhe through the next several long minutes, Murdock knows the guys will come. He just needs to hang on until then.

He can handle this.

Right?...


	7. Chapter 7: The Show Must Go On

**Author's Note:** I'm back! Sorry about the long time in between updates. I just started flight school, and it's been a lot harder than I thought it would be. (AKA, way more studying than I had thought it would be!) But I think I've found a schedule, hopefully, and since I'm procrastinating right now... Haha, onward!

**jacquline**: Thanks! Murdock is by far my favorite to write. Glad you like him. :)

**TheChildlikeAlchemist**: Haha, I'm so glad you stopped by! What can I say about the screen name? I love those scary little gnomes... Thanks for the kind words though. More Murdock soon!

**cidril**: Glad you like the non-linear plot. We do eventually catch up to the beginning, and then I hope it makes sense. Thanks for the kind words!

**Handful of Silence**: Yeah, Murdock is a blend of sane and crazy and off-the-wall, and sometimes it's hard to get the balance. Glad you like it though, and yes, squiggles do have a tendency to dance, don't they? ;)

**Not2BForgotten**: Thanks! Glad you like it, and I try to keep it fast paced,

Disclaimer: See chapter before.

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Show Must Go On

MOLINE, ILLINOIS – FIVE DAYS EARLIER

The clock had switched silently to 5:33 am by the time Hannibal was ready to admit that they had lost the two cars. The Colonel was behind the wheel, his tired grey eyes scanning the back alleys, parking lots, and warehouses for any sign of recent activity. He prided himself on reading the environment, could tell which cars had just gotten there and which had been parked over night, just by the frost that covered the windshields, could guess the patterns of local shop owners by who had their garbage can in or out. But there was nothing to go off of, nothing to find to indicate that the cars they had been chasing had even come this way and his stomach churned every time they passed another section of town with no success.

They had found more blood on the hood of the car before they left, and while no one knew for sure whose blood it was, the general, silent agreement was that it was most likely Murdock's. Silence had been a theme for the past few hours now, as BA sat in the passenger seat looking for any car with the four license plate numbers he remembered. Face was in the back, looking out as well, but Colonel could tell that he was distracted as the con man's eyes had barely blinked.

Hannibal sighed as another lot proved empty. He hadn't given up hope that they'd find the cars, but he was uneasy. These boys were like sons, family, members of his life that he couldn't picture anywhere else but as his side anymore. Couldn't picture himself anywhere else, quite frankly.

And not having one here…

It made him realize – in all of the years he had known the three men, in all of his military service and acceptance that time on this earth was entirely too short, he wasn't ready to lose any of them.

Not at all.

"Hannibal, I haven't seen anything," BA said, hand pounding the dash in uncontained frustration.

It was true, the Corporal was pissed about his car – motherfuckers don't mess with a brother's van without expecting ass kicking. But if there was one thing of a brother's that you don't mess around with, it's his family, and for better or for worse he was saddled with these three men. Had been since Mexico. And found he hadn't minded so much since that second mission to Borneo.

Yes, it had taken time to get used to Murdock. To the antifreeze in the damn meat, to the songs mid-flight, to the stupid puppets that appeared out of no where, the man's mind wasn't right; even Face couldn't completely deny that.

But over the years he had come to realize something important about the gentle, brown eyed man. For all of the crazy and all of the fights he'd found himself in on the pilot's behalf (most of which Murdock ended up not needing him anyway), the man never, not once, seemed to lose that cheeriness that seemed to be so innate in him. He had never met someone who could remain almost…innocent in the face of war.

When a bullet broke the man's leg, Murdock had soldiered on, singing sea chanties and talking in a pirate's brogue. At Christmas, unable to go home, it had been Murdock who had led the mess hall in a reenactment of "A Christmas Carol", reciting so much of it from memory that even the visiting General had been impressed enough to jump in as the Ghost of Christmas Future. Not to mention home made sparklers on the 4th of July, Percy the Pig, the sock puppets, and the way that every time the pilot ended up in the hospital he was there, sitting up, laughing or quipping with the nurses by the time they got in.

Murdock was special, had a special way of looking at the world. It had taken him awhile to learn that, to accept that, occasional he still had to stop and remind himself that Murdock was Murdock on the rare occurrence when there was too much to deal with. And, truthfully, sometimes he worried about Murdock, they all did.

But the man was hard to worry about when he was there, smiling up at you, getting in the way of his tool box and laughing even as he hurled empty threats at the man.

Now, someone else was probably hurling threats at the man, and god damn it, that was his job. A job he hadn't defended well when he hadn't gone to see what the noise was, who those foot steps belonged to.

But BA didn't know what to do or say, or how to work through the guilt. So instead, he glanced in the mirror at Face. "Was there anything on that cell phone, Face?"

It was obvious that Face was not taking Murdock being gone well. Even BA could practically see the cogs of guilt rolling around in the con man's head, along with a handful of "would have", "should have" and "could have" thoughts. And even BA knew how dangerous those words could be.

Hannibal wanted to talk to the younger man privately, and tell him that Murdock wouldn't blame him, and neither did they. But they didn't have time for that now. When Face didn't respond, Hannibal repeated BA's question. "Face? What's the status on that phone?"

Face blinked and reacted, jerking back to reality. "Um." He looked at the phone in his hand. He'd examined the contents over and over, but it was clean. Nothing. It was a brand new phone practically mint out of the box. "It's clean."

BA slammed a hand on the dashboard and looked back out the window. Face went back to staring into space, Murdock's jacket and tiger-painted leather satchel held close with his free hand.

For the con man, he had the guilt of his last words to the pilot on his mind. Ice, get ice. Stupid ice for a stupid head ache and a burn that probably didn't even need it. He should have gone to get it himself instead of making the pilot do it.

Guilt, pure and simple.

How else was he supposed to respond? This was his best friend, a title he'd given the pilot almost eight years ago. There was no one else he liked better to come back to and brag about his latest conquest, no one else who would crow over his newest achievement and award him the championship belt of seduction. He still had the thing in his own bag in the back.

It was thanks to Murdock that he now always had a wing man, a friend, someone who would make up songs about ex-girlfriends with him and get him sufficiently drunk to help forget it. Murdock knew what he liked to eat after a hang over, his favorite position when the grill was fired up and the sun right for tanning, what he meant when he said "I'm fine" and he really wasn't. There was no one else like Murdock, no friend who could replace the years of signals they'd built up between them both.

Now, that signal reader was gone.

And it felt like his fault – one more thing he had failed to do for Murdock.

Face frowned at his reflection in the window and Hannibal sighed, turning his eyes back to the road. He'd have to talk to the man later, try to draw out some of that guilt. That much dark emotion in anyone wasn't healthy.

Reaching into his jacket for a cigar as he felt another headache coming, Hannibal almost swerved the van into a fence when a loud ring filled the van. He slammed on the brakes, sending everyone forward.

"Holy shit!" said BA as his seat belt tightened. "What the-"

He was cut off by another ring. BA and Hannibal turned in their seats to look at the phone that Face had. Shocked, Face just stared at it as an unknown number flashed on screen. Reaching over, Hannibal took the phone from the frozen young man and answered it.

"Colonel Smith?" said a low voice on the other side.

Hannibal could barely contain his anger in his voice. "Who is this?"

"I'm the one you'll be talking to if you want to see your pilot, a Captain James H.M. Murdock, alive."

The growl he was trying so hard to contain came through. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

The man chuckled. "Patience, patience, Colonel Smith. That will come. Are you with the rest of the A-Team?"

Hannibal's eyes glanced to BA and Face, both leaning in. "No."

"Now now, that's a lie and we both know it," said the man. "Put the phone on speaker."

Hannibal gave BA and Face a look to remain silent before pushing the speaker button. The man's voice echoed in the van. "Now I'm going to make this simple. My boss has your pilot in his possession. He is alive, but he won't be unless you meet us at 9am at the old studio lot on 679 Yeats Drive."

Face scrambled for a pen to write down the address as Hannibal frowned. "I want proof that Murdock's alive before I agree to anything."

"Fair enough." The phone was silent for a moment before sound erupted from it. It was hard to tell at first what it was, as there was a low hum in the background, but both sounds ended abruptly before starting again, moments later.

Hannibal tightened his grip on the phone as he recognized the prominent sound: Murdock. The pilot's screams were hysterical, frantic, and staggered. A lull came and the man's voice could be heard. "Now now, don't you want to say hi, Mr. Murdock?"

Another hum and another scream were all that answered. The idling engine was the only sound left in the car. Face was looking at the carpet, his hands shaking as BA's knuckles whitened. Hannibal carefully took a breath, putting emotion aside and clearing his mind so he could figure out what to do.

A door shut and the man came back. "Was that proof enough?"

"How do I know that was Murdock?" said Hannibal slowly. "If we're going to meet, I want him there as proof."

The man clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I can't do that, Colonel. I know about your reputation, and I'm afraid that would be making it too easy for you."

"You never told me exactly what this is about." Hannibal glanced at Face, who was still shaking.

"Right. I want to meet. 679 Yeats Drive. At 9am. Come with your team and no one else, or the pilot dies." Before Hannibal could say anything, the man added, "And I will bring proof that your pilot is still alive then. One minute late, and he won't be."

The call ended and Hannibal stared at the blank screen as BA punched a fist so hard into the glove compartment that it cracked. "God damn it! Fuck this shit, Hannibal!"

"That was Murdock," said Face, his hands still shaking. "What were they doing? What were they doing to him?"

Face knew Murdock was capable of keeping silent under pain. In fact, the pilot was notorious for ignoring his own wounds in favor of helping the others, or even just plain forgetting. Hearing him screaming on the phone left everyone's imagination running as to what exactly had happened to bring the Captain to the point of showing pain.

"It's probably a trap, Hannibal," said BA, leaving the white elephant of Murdock's physical state alone.

"I know, I know," said Hannibal, not voicing the fact that he knew that hum. Knew it well, in fact…

The phone rang once, vibrating in Hannibal's hand. Flipping it open again, Hannibal saw a message had come in. He hesitated, afraid of what it would hold, but noticing that Face and BA had already heard, he opened it with a steeled resolve to keep himself in check.

It was a short video. The quality was bad but it was good enough for the team to get the point. Murdock's face was shadowy with bruises, eyes covered by what was either tape or a very tight blindfold and bleeding from three identical cuts on his right cheek. The pilot's hair seemed to be clinging to his face, and it took a second for Hannibal to realize that was because the man was soaking wet, shivering even as his body shook. A loud hum crackled over the bad speaker and Murdock's body convulsed violently, head thrown back as the pilot screamed hoarsely

_Bastards, they're shocking him, _Hannibal thought to himself. His fist curled as the video ended, and he pushed into the seat back to keep from lashing out at the seat fabric.

The action shocked both BA and Face, who were silent at the video. BA was breathing heavily and Face looked ready to be sick. The screams seemed to echo through the van, settling into the atmosphere and layering into their minds even as the video reloaded and started again.

Face clutched Murdock's jacket and felt his fingernails dig into the leather. _Just get back to us safely, Murdock. Get back, and I'll get you all the damn sugar packets this jacket can hold!_

He wished he had been the one to go get the ice. That it was him getting those shocks instead of the pilot. Murdock was always there when he needed him, making the situation better with a song, a witty wise crack, or even taking on a completely off the wall personality.

Face knew that, in some way, they were Murdock's coping weapons, but he always wondered if Murdock knew that those actions made him feel like there was something else in their life besides being on the run.

Noticing that his two other boys were lost Hannibal turned away and collected himself. Years of military service had taught him to think rationally and beware of emotional decisions. They needed a plan, and they needed to get to Murdock before something else happened. Hannibal knew the pilot was strong, much stronger than the eclectic antics the Texan engaged in suggested.

Yet there were limits to every man, including Murdock. And though the pilot had been through more torture, more clinics, more hardships than Hannibal could guess (he didn't know everything in the man's file, after all), even the pilot had limits.

What exactly were those limits?

"Boys." The word was simple, but forceful. BA and Face looked at Hannibal. "We're going to load up and be ready to get our pilot back."

BA nodded, eyes narrowed, fuming. "Those fuckers ain't getting away with their heads intact."

"I don't know who these people are, but they've messed with the wrong people," said Hannibal, putting the van into drive.

And as he looked into the mirror, he saw that even Face's eyes had grown dark, grim, resolute. A counter look to BA's fuming, bright, glittering eyes. His boys would pull through, would get this done.

They had to.

There was no other choice.


End file.
